Feral
by Sylvia2
Summary: The path of the Shaman is not always safe. Or comfortable. Warning: Much Blair and Jim thumping, some language, and abuse of plot. This is an early work.


Glossary at end of story Disclaimer: The boys are not mine. The hospital staff is. No one sue me, coz I ain't got no money; just three hungry dogs. Rating PG-13 for violence Warning: Blair-owies, Jim-owies, and gratuitous use of Hebrew. Please don't be offended.  
  
Feral By SiviB  
  
The world outside the loft was an unrelieved gray and the constant drip and splatter of raindrops on the skylight and windows was just getting louder and louder. One week into a long stretch of rainy weather had the loft smelling musty and damp, despite Jim's best efforts. He put away mop and bucket with a clatter, wrinkling his nose at the scent of the floor cleaner combined with the moist background fugue. No matter the tensions of the day, he had always been able to relax in the silence of the loft, but now there was no escaping the noise and it was wearing on his last nerve. Add a cold front to the mix, and Ellison was in a fine temper when Blair stumbled in, shedding his jacket, backpack, and a gallon of water onto the floor. "Man, the temperature is dropping like a stone out there. I'm freezing!"  
  
Ellison said nothing, yet, merely handing his friend a towel. His jaw ached, though, with words unsaid.  
  
"Oh, thanks Jim." Sandburg vigorously towel dried his hair and face, shivers beginning to die down as he steamed in the warm loft.  
  
"That was for the floor, Sandburg. I just mopped." Blair winced at the curt tone and glanced guiltily at the mess. He picked up his jacket and backpack, dropping the towel on the puddle.  
  
"Sorry, Jim, I'll clean up in a sec. I just need to change." He disappeared into his room, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind. Jim felt a growl start deep in his chest, then took a deep breath and consciously relaxed his jaw. Blair was cold and wet, two states he deplored more than did most cats. The floor could wait. Jim shook his head, a smile edging up the corner of his mouth. He filled the teakettle and set it on the stove to boil, then pulled out a mug and Blair's assortment of teas from the cupboard. The smells from the little box of teas made Jim's nose twitch. Rose hips, he could identify, and jasmine. Licorice. Hibiscus. Nutmeg? Or cinnamon. Yeah, cinnamon. A fine, dry bouquet. Smelled a heck of a lot better than the floor cleaner.  
  
The kettle was singing as Blair emerged from his room, dry jeans and a sweatshirt replacing the sodden mess he had been wearing. Jim turned off the burner and held up the box, rattling it to get Blair's attention.  
  
"Green with jasmine, man, thanks." The younger man hastily mopped up the already drying puddle and walked the towel over the trail he had left. Towel in hamper, tea in hand, Jim in better mood, Blair began to relax for the first time all day.  
  
Then the phone rang.  
  
"If that's Simon, I'm not here." Jim said. Blair sighed and picked up the phone.  
  
"Sand." A harsh voice, whispering and hurried gabbled in his ear. "Slow down, man, I didn't hear you."  
  
Jim pricked up his ears, half interested, and the sounds came into sharp focus.  
  
"Dammit, Sandburg. Get Ellison on the phone. This is Sneaks. I have information for him, but I gotta see him now." The strange, shoe-loving informant had never called the loft before. Now he seemed frantic, his words punctuated by coughing and harsh breathing like he'd been running. Jim heard rain dripping, distant traffic noises, and the man's racing heartbeat.  
  
Blair offered the phone to Jim. "It's Sneaks. He sounds like he's in trouble."  
  
"Probably just needs a new pair of Nikes. Ask him what he wants."  
  
Blair pulled the phone back to his ear. "Jim can't come to the phone, Sneaks. What did you want?"  
  
"Hell. Fuck. Ok. Um. I need to meet with him. Now. I have information that will bring down a major player in the city. Tell Ellison to meet me at the Old City Park in thirty minutes. This is major, and I want protection."  
  
"We'll be there." Blair promised, and hung up. "Jim, we gotta go meet Sneaks. He sounded like the wolves were after him and he says he has information for you. Big stuff, man." Blair dug out a dry coat and pulled on his rattiest sneakers. "We're supposed to meet him at Old City Park in thirty minutes."  
  
"Whoa, now, Chief. It's pouring out there. Sneaks is a flake, and."  
  
"He was scared, Jim." Blair was a bit shaken at the fear he had heard in the man's voice. "Scared for his life, I think. We have to meet him."  
  
Jim had no desire to get back out into the rain, and less desire to go haring off on one of Sneaks' convoluted "tips". Blair was practically vibrating with tension, though, and edging toward the door. Hell. Sneaks must be scared of something and now he'd acquired Sandburg as his champion. Bowing to the inevitable, Jim sighed and put down his beer. "Ok. We'll go. But he's not getting any tip this time."  
  
"Why do you think I'm wearing these shoes, Jim. I was gonna give 'em to Goodwill, but they wouldn't take them." Jim chuckled and pulled on his jacket and checked his gun, tucking it into his back waist holster.  
  
Thirty minutes later, rain pouring harder than ever, they pulled into Old City Park. The park was actually a collection of historical houses dating back to the first Cascade settlers, some original and restored and some re- creations. It was a popular place for schools and re-enactors, but not a hangout per se. At 8pm on a rainy Thursday night, it was deserted. The log cabins loomed out of the darkness through the trees, more solid dark against the night under the dripping branches. There was no sign of Sneaks anywhere. Jim shut down the engine in disgust, peering into the rain for any sign of the man.  
  
"He's not here, Chief. Let's go."  
  
Blair shook his head. "No, man, he was scared when he was talking to me. He's probably hiding. If you can hear him, and do that piggy back thing we tried you should be able to find him, no problem."  
  
Jim nodded, reluctantly, and opened up his hearing. The patter of rain on the roof of the truck was suddenly like standing inside a drum kit. He winced and clapped his hands over his ears, shutting down again.  
  
"Too loud in here. I'll be right back, Chief." With a muffled curse at informants, soft- hearted anthropologists, and rain, Jim stepped outside and was immediately drenched. But at least he could open up his ears now.  
  
Rain, like hissing drums on the ground. Sandburg's heartbeat. The creak of the trees in the cold wind. Water flowing into the gutter. Harsh breathing and a whiff of copper. He did that curious mental twist and attached his eyes to his ears, seeing what he was hearing and there was Sneaks. Huddled on the porch of one of the houses. Bleeding from his abdomen. Jim swore again and took off at a run, pulling his gun.  
  
"Jim? Jim! What.." He heard Blair get out of the truck, but he was focused on the bleeding man. He yelled over his shoulder, "Get an ambulance out here, Sandburg!"  
  
The ragged man was barely conscious when Jim reached him. Bruises covered his face and he was bleeding from shallow cuts on his arms and abdomen, apart from the more serious wound upon which he was weakly holding pressure. "You came, Ellison. Wasn't sure you would. Don't have much time. Disk. Big time stuff on it." The man's voice was getting weaker, his eyes closing. "Get disk. Hidden. Can't let those other bastards get it. Informants, names, places. Bring it down. Major players." He coughed weakly; Jim was holding him up now, holding pressure on the abdominal wound.  
  
"Where is it, Sneaks? Who did this?" His annoyance had fled, replaced with urgency.  
  
The man drew a deeper breath and whispered urgently, "Crime and Punishment." Then he died.  
  
Jim closed the dead man's eyes, the weight of him suddenly heavier in his arms. The detective laid down the battered form, then froze at the sound of a footstep behind him. "I said I'd be right back, Chief. Go on back to the truck and call for an ambulance."  
  
"I don't think so." The strange voice made Jim look up just as the blow came down and he faded to inky oblivion.  
  
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Gulls. Fish. Oil. Distant rain. Waves lapping against concrete and wood. Damp and cold aching into his skull. Cigarette smoke and six heartbeats. Blood. Sandburg.  
  
Jim jerked fully awake. "Blair!" He tried to get up, but found himself securely attached to a stout metal chair. Another chair sat across from him in the dim room, empty. Jim pulled futilely at the leather restraints, but succeeded only in abrading his wrists. A fifth strap was tight across his chest, bruising his ribs. The chair didn't even budge, being bolted to the floor. With a swallowed curse, he gave up the struggle and opened up his senses, looking for Sandburg.  
  
The little room was unlit and would have been pitch dark to any eyes but Jim's. The walls were covered with a dirty gray tile and there was a drain in the floor. Shower heads on the walls, fluorescent fixtures high overhead. No Sandburg.  
  
He listened further out, stretching his ears for any sound of Blair. There was nothing for a long time but the dockside sounds and the six heartbeats. Then a muffled thud and a groan made him sit up, alert. A moment later he heard Sandburg loudly demanding to know what was going on. This was followed by a sharp crack of hand against flesh and a low voice suggesting he shut up. Jim felt rage well up inside him, and a bitter helplessness. All he could do was listen as Blair was dragged, fighting and cursing all the way, toward him.  
  
Anticipating, Jim closed his eyes just as the flouresents overhead flickered to life. Even behind his eyelids it was painfully bright in the tiny room.  
  
"Jim!" Blair was dragged past him, held by two overmuscled thugs and followed by a third. Jim opened his eyes cautiously, his dark-adapted vision quickly adjusting to the light. "I'm ok, Sandburg." The younger man had a split lip and a bruise darkening one cheek. A thin trail of blood wound down his cheek from his scalp, already dry. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Oh, I'm just peachy, man. Get your fucking hands off me! Hey!" Without a word, without a leer, the three burly thugs calmly and effortlessly stripped Blair down to his boxers and sat him roughly in the other chair, strapping him down tightly. Then, without a word, they left. Jim was shaken at the cold indifference to Blair's struggles. The little man was no weakling, but the men had handled him with the ease of a child undressing a doll.  
  
Shudders wracked Blair's stocky form as the frigid air in the room and the cold chair leached the warmth from his body. His teeth began to clack together as he shivered, his quick breaths white with condensation. "Its f- freezing, Jim. Sheesh. Cheap, man, real cheap. C-can't you t-turn up th' h-h-heat a little."  
  
Jim smiled grimly. "Sorry, Sandburg. Did you see the electric bill last month? We have to conserve." This earned a shaky laugh from Blair.  
  
The door opened and one of the burly bad guys rolled in a covered cart. He positioned it between Blair and Jim, removed the cover, and left the room again, leaving the door open.  
  
"Oh, man." Blair looked over the contents of the cart with fear and confusion. "Jim? What the h-hell is g-going on?" He was slowly becoming used to the cold, adrenaline and the shivers warming him a bit.  
  
"Psychology, Blair. Intimidation." Jim's heart sank, knowing too well what was probably to follow. There wasn't a goddamned thing he could do about it, either. Brass knuckles, syringes, a metal wand with wires attached, Sandburg's Swiss Army knife, a bottle of alcohol. Quite a starting lineup.  
  
Blair's heartbeat was thundering in Jim's ears as the younger man grasped the situation fully. He began pulling at the leather cuffs, desperate and panicked. "God, Jim, get us out of here." His eyes were wide and wild.  
  
"Sandburg! Blair!" Ellison called sharply to get his attention. "You're gonna hurt yourself, Chief. Look at me!" Blair looked up, breathing hard and fast. "Good. Watch me, Chief. Keep your eyes on me. Take a deep breath." Blair tried to slow his terror driven breaths, focusing on Jim at last. "Good. Now, stay with me. They're probably gonna concentrate on me; you don't know anything. Just keep cool and don't call attention to yourself over there. They won't kill me. Ok?" Ellison kept his voice soft and earnest, holding Blair's attention. "We'll get out of this."  
  
"You got a plan, Jim?" He perked up, hopeful.  
  
With a sad smile, Ellison replied, "Yeah, Chief. Survival."  
  
Quiet fell in the cold room as the door opened wider and a gaunt man in a lab coat entered, followed by a couple of large "lab assistants". The two hulking men took positions on either side of the door while the skeleton in the lab coat pulled the cart out of his way and sat down off to the side. He looked over the contents of the cart and said, "Very good. We can begin."  
  
He took a file folder from the bottom shelf of the cart and turned to Jim. "Detective Jim Ellison, late of the Army Rangers. Son of William and Grace Ellison. Currently working for Captain Simon Banks in the Major Crimes Division of Cascade P. D. A pleasure, sir, to meet an officer of your caliber." He paused, obviously expecting a response. Jim clenched his teeth and said nothing. Labcoat smiled and shrugged.  
  
The man oozed friendliness as he turned to face Blair. "Blair Jacob Sandburg, BS, MS, and currently working for a Ph.D. Impressive, sir. Son of Naomi Sandburg, father unknown. Teaching fellow at Rainier University; room-mate and partner to Detective Ellison." Labcoat closed the folder and contemplated the two men. "An unlikely pair, I must say. Tell me, Detective Ellison," he pushed off abruptly and rolled his chair over to hiss a whisper in Jim's ear, "Is he a good fuck?"  
  
The vulgarity did what the careful recitation of the man's knowledge about their lives had been unable to; it shook Jim. He drew back as much as he was able, retreating from that insane whisper. The man's fleshless lips stretched into an obscene grin. "I think he must be. Young, energetic, and a mouth that was made for giving head. You're a lucky man, Detective Ellison." He rolled behind Jim's chair, pulling himself over to leer at Blair from Jim's shoulder. He spoke as a confidante, for Jim's ear alone; Blair was watching in confusion. Ellison hoped he heard none of this. "He's a beautiful boy, Detective Ellison. I'm envious."  
  
"Fuck you," Jim said harshly, drawing as far away from the man as his restraints would allow.  
  
The gaunt man smiled and opened the folder again, rising and looming over Blair. "Mister Sandburg, Detective Ellison has some information we need. The location of a disk, stolen from us by a Mr. Samuel Jenkins, whom I believe you know as 'Sneaks'. This disk is very important to my employers and they want it back. All Detective Ellison has to do is tell me what Mister Jenkins told him before he unfortunately passed beyond my influence. A simple matter, but I fear that he will balk at telling me what I need to know.  
  
"That's where you come in, Mister Sandburg. You are my fulcrum."  
  
Jim paled. "He doesn't know anything. Leave him alone." Dread settled over him like a clammy sheet.  
  
"I know he doesn't, Detective Ellison," the man smiled gently. "But you do. You can save him from a great deal of unnecessary suffering. We might even free you both if you tell us. You know nothing of this operation, after all, and can identify at most two or three nameless faces. I appear on no database, and so am perfectly safe. Yes, " he said decisively, "tell me what I want to know and you will both go free. I was going to kill you, but this will be further incentive for you to cooperate."  
  
Jim met Blair's wide eyes, dreading what he would see there. Fear, as the man's words sunk in. Anger, but not at Jim as he had feared. Forgiveness, which Jim had not even hoped for. Blair knew what was coming and it scared him spitless, but he knew that Jim must keep quiet. Sneaks had died for the information this man's employers wanted. More would die if they obtained it. There was no way Jim could let that happen.  
  
"Protect the tribe, man," Blair murmured for Jim's ears alone. Jim nodded slightly.  
  
Labcoat shook his head in amusement. "It will make no difference, you know. Be as brave as you like, Mister Sandburg. Eventually all will be revealed. I am offering you a chance now, before the screaming starts, to walk away undamaged. Such a little thing, too. A computer disk. A bit of plastic and metal. Detective Ellison must think very little of your well- being to offer you up in exchange for such a paltry thing." With no warning, he turned and backhanded Blair with a strength that belied his skeletal frame. Blair's head flew back and hit the metal chair, blood seeping from his lower lip. He shook his hair out of his eyes and glared at their tormentor. "Well, you have spirit, don't you. This is going to be fun." He looked over his shoulder at Jim; "Last chance, Detective Ellison."  
  
Jim swallowed his rage, sent Blair a mental apology, and said not a word.  
  
"Oh, goody." The man rubbed his thin hands in obvious delight. "I haven't had a chance to play in quite a while." He smiled down at Blair. "Simple things first, I think." The hard hand lashed out again, the slap loud in the still room. A second followed then a third and fourth and Jim could hear the tiny grunts the man made from the effort behind the blows. Blair tried to move with them, but was held too tightly to turn away much.  
  
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Jim's wrists were aching and sore. He looked down at his hands; they were clenched into tight fists and pulling at the cuffs. He wondered absently when he had started doing that, letting his mind wander from the room, from Blair's pain, from the evil bastard causing it all. Tugs in the harbor outside, steaming into the morning air, morning from the smells of pastries and coffee mixing with the noxious odors of the wharf and the coppery smell of blood trickling from Blair's split lip.  
  
The slaps had stopped, drawing Jim's attention back to the cold little room. Blair sat, slumped slightly against the leather strap around his chest, panting for breath. Labcoat looked down at the tangle of curls hiding Blair's face and shook his head. "We're just getting warmed up, Mister Sandburg." He reached out a bony hand and grasped a handful of damp hair, dragging Blair's head up and holding it there.  
  
Shaking his head out of the hard grip, Sandburg spat blood and hate at the man. "Stop grabbing my hair, you sonofabitch." His eyes glinted defiantly and Labcoat laughed, almost merrily.  
  
"Spirit, by gum! This is going to be so much fun." He smoothed Blair's hair back from his bruised face and casually wiped his own. "Detective Ellison, you have a fighter here. I commend you, Sir, on your choice in companions." He looked over his shoulder at Jim. "Look at me, Detective Ellison. You must watch, or your little friend here will suffer all the more."  
  
Jim's eyes flicked open quickly. "Bastard. You're wasting your time." He locked eyes with Blair, hoping that the younger man would read his thoughts there and ignore his words. "Sandburg is just a tag-along. He means nothing to me." He made his voice cold as ice, harsh and impersonal.  
  
"Ah, well, it's nice to be told when I'm just wasting my time. Robert, will you do the honors?" He motioned one of the guards forward and stepped back. The burly man pulled a gun and set it at Blair's temple, pulling back the hammer.  
  
"No! Stop!" Jim struggled against the chair, but couldn't budge it and looked on in naked horror as the trigger was pulled and the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Blair recoiled with a yell, then slumped a little. Jim saw the fine shudders in his hands, saw those hands clench helplessly as the guard stepped back. Labcoat chuckled again, a sickening sound.  
  
"He means nothing to you?" The chuckles turned into a snorting laughter. "Just a tag-along? Lordy, Detective, the look on your face! Bang!" Jim flinched, which set off more derisive chortles. "Oh, me. Haven't had a good laugh in far too long. I miss this." Sniffling into a crisp handkerchief, Labcoat turned to Blair once again. "Now, what shall we try next?"  
  
"You could try playing in the street, freak. I've heard it's lotsa fun." The abused muscles of Blair's face were hurting, making speech a little slurred. Labcoat sobered and backhanded Blair once more, knocking his head against the metal chair as it flew back. "Did anyone ever love you, ever?" Blair murmured, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears. He looked up, then, at the seething form of his tormentor and said, very clearly, "Pain is a route to the otherworld and a part of the Shamanic journey. Thanks man."  
  
Jim watched as Blair just closed his eyes and laid his head back on the chair. Hi s whole body relaxed, tremors easing, and his chest rose and fell in deep breaths. Labcoat laughed hesitantly, shrugged, and picked up the metal wand. Softly, so softly Jim had to open his hearing to hear, Blair began to murmur, "Kaddesh, Urechatz, Karpas, Yachatz."  
  
Labcoat touched the wand to Blair's hand lightly. "A low setting first, " he spoke over Blair's low chant. "Just to warm up." Jim smelled the ozone as the wand was activated and saw Blair's twitch, but the younger man did not falter.  
  
"Maggid, Rachtzah, Motzi, Matzah, Maror, Korech, Shulchan Orech."  
  
The current was running along Blair's arms, along his internal conduits; Jim could almost see them as the voltage went up. Labcoat grimaced, not getting the reaction he hoped for, and turned up another notch.  
  
The chanting grew louder. "Tzafun, Barech, Hallel, Nirtzah. Kaddesh, Urechatz, Karpas." Blair was rocking a little in time to his chant, the words slurring slightly as Labcoat moved the probe to his neck and turned it up yet another notch. "Yachatz, Maggid, Rachtzah, M-motzi, Matzahhh, M- m-maror." Sweat was trickling down his face and his fists were clenched tightly, eyes clamped shut. Another notch. "Korech Shhhhhulchhan Orech, Tzafun, B-Barech, Hallel, Nirtzah! Baruch atah Adonai Elohim, melech Haolam, m'shaneh habrioyot!"  
  
He was trembling in every muscle now, current dancing along his neural pathways like a dervish in cleats. Jim could see his muscles cramping. Each word was forced from between clenched teeth, from a throat that wanted to scream. "Ilu hotzi-hotzianu hotzianu mi-Mizrayim hotzianu mi-Mitzrayim dahyenu! Dahy-dahyenu, dahy-dahyenu, dahy-dahyenu, dahyenu, dahyenu, dahyenu!"  
  
"Enough!" Labcoat shouted, removing the probe. Blair crumpled, panting, his lips still moving in a breathless whisper. "Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam, shekacha baolamo. A-mein." Only Jim heard, wondering, and then Blair passed out.  
  
"Young people today. No endurance." Labcoat sniffed, placing the probe back on the table. "Your turn, Detective Ellison." He crooked a finger, motioning the thugs forward, and handed them each a roll of quarters. "Have fun, boys. Don't kill him, though."  
  
As long as they are working on me, Jim thought, Blair gets a break. He rolled with the punches as best he could, dialing down the pain to one or so, and let his mind go elsewhere for a time. No way to fight back, he didn't waste energy in trying. Jim's job was heartbreakingly simple. Don't speak. Screaming, cursing was acceptable, but don't speak. Don't even try to figure out what the hell Sneaks meant by his last words. Certainly don't think of those words.  
  
"What words, Detective." Labcoat's high voice filtered through the yellow red throbbing. "Don't think what words? Surely it is all right to think them, Detective. No one can hear your thoughts."  
  
Mistake to listen, listening brought him back to the room with the pain and Blair and he couldn't watch that again, watch Blair's agony. Just a kid, caught up in a different world, a crueler world than he had ever known. Just a kid. "Leave him alone, you sick fuck." The words hurt his ears, hurt his mouth. Sound was slurry; the kid would know what to do about that. "Fix me right up." Thudding again; Jim turned things down another intensity level, but found the dial slipping from his mental grip. He laughed a bit and the thudding stopped.  
  
"What's so funny? Share with me, Detective Ellison."  
  
Jim opened an eye. The other didn't seem to want to open; this one was blurry. "Still here? Lost grip." Labcoat's cadaverous face loomed large in his blurred vision. "Fuck off." He surged forward and was rewarded by a sharp pain in his forehead and an answering curse from his tormentor as he fell to the floor. "Gotcha."  
  
"Indeed. I think Mister Sandburg has had quite enough beauty rest. He's pretty enough as it is." Labcoat climbed to his feet and motioned toward the still unconscious man. "Get him out of the chair, Klaus. Time for a change."  
  
Klaus and Robert shook their hands out, grimacing, and quickly released Blair. He was suspended between them, knees buckled, completely limp. The thugs completely ignored Jim's renewed struggles. "Leave him alone, you bastards. He's just a kid!"  
  
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Labcoat was rummaging around his bag of tricks when a wet thud, followed by two deeper thuds made him turn back to his young victim. Klaus and Robert were on the floor at the young man's feet, not moving. In less than a heartbeat, Blair had crossed the room and taken the other man by the throat. His blue eyes were wild and glinting; a low growl rumbled deep in his chest.  
  
"Sandburg?" Ellison said, focusing his eye with an effort. The young man looked over his shoulder at Jim, then calmly reached up and covered Labcoat's nose and mouth, ignoring his blows and struggles until the man went limp. Then, Blair dropped him.  
  
The young man looked down at their enemy, panting a little, then back at Jim. He turned and padded lithely over to Jim's chair and crouched before him, whining a little in the back of his throat. He clawed at the leather holding Jim down, becoming frantic when it did not yield. "The knife, Sandburg. Get your knife." Blair looked up at Jim, head cocked a bit, listening, then sprang up and retrieved his Swiss army knife from the tray.  
  
Opening it with fingers suddenly clumsy, Blair sawed Jim's left hand free, then handed him the knife. Without another word, he turned to the other three in the room and quickly secured them, binding their hands and gagging them.  
  
Jim sat and watched for a moment. Blair's movements were sure and strong, though tremors still made his hands shake and his heart was racing. Shaking his head in confusion, Jim made short work of his restraints and stood to help. Then he sat down again, the room spinning around him. Instantly, Blair was at his side, his wide eyes taking in every bruise, cut, and contusion. Jim saw anger fill his friend, saw the hatred in his eyes, and said, "I'm ok, Chief. Just want to go home, now."  
  
Blair whined in his throat again, butted his head against Jim's hand, and then helped him to stand. Together they made their way to the door, where Jim stopped them to listen. Two more heartbeats in the building, above and to the left. He steered them right, toward an exit sign, leaning heavily on the younger man. "You ok, Chief?" Jim's legs felt like boiled noodles, and his vision kept going blurry. A sick feeling had taken up residence in his gut and he knew that he probably had at least a mild concussion. "Chief?" No response. He looked down at the intent face of his partner, who looked back with no indication he had understood a single word.  
  
Jim stumbled to a halt, taking Blair's face in his hands. "Chief? You ok?" Impatiently, Blair pulled away and shoved himself back under Jim's arm, pulling him toward the door. Ellison decided to just go with it until they were safe, but Blair' silence worried him.  
  
Shouts, behind them. "Hell, they know we're gone. We gotta move, Chief." The heartbeats were getting closer, accompanied by slamming doors as other rooms were searched. They moved faster, the exit ten feet before them, then five, and then the sound of a gun cocking stopped them altogether.  
  
"Far enough. Turn around," a cold voice instructed.  
  
Blair lowered Jim to the floor carefully. He met Ellison's gaze wordlessly and grinned. Looking back down the hall, Blair slowly stood, hands out to the side, and watched as the two armed men approached. Jim's heart sank; he knew they were dead. He was out of the action, and Blair was unarmed. He watched his friend face their doom, grimy and bruised, wearing only a pair of grubby boxers, hair and eyes wild, and thought 'Butch and Sundance, eat your hearts out.'  
  
With a wild yell that surprised Jim as much as the two gunmen, Blair charged. Teeth bared in a rictus of hate, he tore into the men with his bare hands, laying them out cold on the floor before the echoes of his howl had died away along that dingy corridor. Panting, hands bloodied, he stood over his prey and howled victory. Jim shuddered at the sound; he had never even seen the kid start to move. Uncertainly, and only half kidding, Jim looked up at Blair and asked, "Who are you?"  
  
In a hollow voice, Blair replied, "Ilu hotzianu mi-Mitzrayim, dahyenu." And then he collapsed.  
  
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A very shaky and sore Jim found his cell phone and called for backup and an ambulance. Less than ten minutes later, Simon Banks strode into the warehouse, coat flapping, bellowing for Jim. A commotion drew his attention; emergency personnel were clustered in a corner of the room. He could just make out Jim's voice saying, "Chief, put it down, willya, they only want to help."  
  
Pushing his way through the small crowd, he stopped short at the tableau before them. A much-battered Jim Ellison leaned against the wall, his hand restraining the wild-eyed figure of Blair Sandburg. The EMT's were being held back by the Swiss army knife held in Sandburg's shaking hand.  
  
"For pity's sake, Sandburg, put that thing down before you hurt someone." Banks bellowed the first words that popped into his head. Then he took a closer look at the younger man. Disheveled, bruised, grimy, and half naked, his eyes ablaze with determination, he crouched defensively before Ellison. "Is that blood on your hands, son?" Banks asked in a quieter voice. No response from Blair, but he thought he saw a flicker of something else there. "All right, every one back off. Just back away. Clear out until I call you back."  
  
Grumbling softly, the various EMTs and uniforms filtered out of the building. Banks crouched to Blair's eye level, well out of lunging reach. "You ok, Jim?"  
  
"Not really, Sir. But I'll survive." Ellison sat up straighter and groaned. Blair flicked a worried glance over his shoulder, then locked eyes with Banks again. "Come on, Chief. It's over. Put down the knife."  
  
There was a wildness in the kid's eyes. Banks had seen it before, but not in human eyes. A wounded coyote had approached his camp once while Banks was on a fishing trip. It had looked at him with the same fierce desperation before stealing his catch and limping into the woods. "I don't think Sandburg is with us right now, Jim. What do you think I should do?"  
  
"Alpha male." Jim murmured. "Has to be you. I couldn't carry it off right now."  
  
"What?" Simon was bewildered, not understanding.  
  
"Stare him down. He'll growl. Don't let him win. Then get him to a hospital. Me too."  
  
"Stare him down?" Banks met Blair's eyes briefly and was surprised by the low growl. It intensified when Simon did not look away immediately. Catching on, the older man locked his gaze on Blair's and held it there. The growl grew louder, and Blair shifted his stance slightly, becoming marginally more menacing.  
  
Simon growled back, baring his teeth.  
  
Surprised, Blair went silent, head cocked in puzzlement. Resolute, Banks kept his eyes focused on Blair's, until finally, the younger man broke the contact. With a tiny whine, he dropped the knife and crawled backwards on all fours to crouch next to Jim.  
  
"Damn right," Simon said with some satisfaction. Jim gave a huff of laughter; Blair glared at them both, then rolled his eyes and pulled Jim to lay against him. Simon shook his head and called the EMT's back.  
  
*^*^*^*^ "Crime and Punishment, Simon." Jim was stretched out on an ER gurney and being fussed over. "I have no idea what he meant." Blair sat slumped in a wheel chair, already discharged, bone weary and silently still. Sadie, the evening charge nurse, had looked in earlier and tsked over them both, but Blair had only cracked a lopsided smile and slipped into a healing doze. Nearly an hour later, he still had not moved.  
  
Jim's concussion had been ruled out, leaving only the labwork to come back to clear them both. He was fidgeting with his IV, getting his hand slapped by the plump nurse taking his blood pressure. "Behave, Jim, or I'll sic the student nurse on you."  
  
"Sorry, Annie. Hey, could you get Blair another blanket. He looks cold." The nurse nodded, and bustled off.  
  
"Wasn't that that book by Tolstoy, with all the characters.. Never could get through that thing."  
  
"That's War and Peace, Simon. I'm ashamed of you." Blair's sleepy voice surprised them both. Jim scrambled off of the gurney and wrapped a sheet around himself. Simon fumbled behind him, bringing the IV pole as Jim knelt by Blair's chair. "You look like hell, Jim." Blair touched Jim's face lightly, concern filling his tired eyes. "I guess it worked."  
  
"What worked? All I know is you.."  
  
"Started chanting, then went Rambo on their asses?"  
  
The IV started beeping and a younger nurse poked her head in. She was the only nurse in the ER wearing a white uniform; the green and blue symbol for the Cascade School of Nursing was clumsily stitched onto the arm of the starched dress. "Mister Ellison, what are you doing out of bed?" She helped him to stand, ignoring his protests, and bustled him back to the gurney, twitching the sheet from around his shoulders deftly and laying it over him. Simon chuckled, following obediently with the IV pole. The girl checked Jim's IV for patency and the line for kinks, quieting the alarm at last.  
  
"Now, you stay there until Doctor Gail releases you, right? Or I'll sic Sadie on you." The student glared at the three men, then left, twitching the curtains closed behind her.  
  
"Alpha female, Jim?" Simon said quietly, then broke up into a restrained fit of laughter. Soon all three men were laughing hard, trying to suppress the noise, which just made it worse. Jim held his sore ribs, eyes streaming, as Blair growled, which set them all off again. Gradually, with several re-eruptions and three sets of sore ribs, they stilled.  
  
"Oh, that hurts, Jim," Blair gasped, wiping his eyes.  
  
A tall Eurasian woman ducked into their treatment area. "What hurts, Mister Sandburg?"  
  
"Ah, the lovely Doctor Gail. Can I go home now, please? Jim and Simon are tryin' ta kill me here."  
  
"I heard. The whole ER heard. And Cindy is mortified. She's hiding out in the nurses' lounge right now. I'd say you've all done quite enough for one night and anyone who can laugh like that doesn't deserve to take up valuable ER space." With a twinkle that belied her angry tone, she deftly removed Jim's IV and made one last notation in his chart. "Go home, Detective Ellison, and take your friends with you."  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
"So what book was it that Simon thought was War and Peace, Jim?"  
  
Ellison eased his tired body onto the couch. Blair set a glass of juice on a coaster on the coffee table and sat as well, drawing Jim's feet into his lap and rubbing them absently. "That feels wonderful, Chief. You have at least a year to stop doing that." Jim snagged a pillow beneath his head and relaxed into the couch cushions with a sigh of contentment. His aches were easing now, thanks to the painkillers from the hospital, and Blair's foot rub was taking care of the rest.  
  
"What book, Jim?" He switched to the other foot, kneading it with strong hands that trembled only slightly.  
  
That slight tremble shook Jim out of his relaxed fugue. "You ok, Chief?"  
  
"I'm fine, Jim. Really." Jim opened up his senses to check the veracity of Blair's statement. Heart rate nominal, temp slightly elevated, respirations normal, no smell of fear any more. Tremors. Fine tremors all over Blair's body. He pulled his feet out of Blair's hands and sat up, catching them in his own, feeling the quiver there.  
  
"Fine, Chief?"  
  
Gently pulling his hands from Jim's light grip, Blair tucked his hair back behind his ears, looking uncomfortable. "Ok, I'm a little freaked. But physically, I'm ok. Just have the post-torture shakes, I guess. Normal, right?" He smiled a half-smile and drew his legs onto the couch to sit in a lotus position. "I just need a good nights' rest and about a week's worth of meditation and I'll be good to go, man." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.  
  
"So, what happened, Chief?" Jim kept his voice calm. "When you went Rambo.I've never seen some of those moves. You were fast, kid."  
  
"It, ah, it has to do with the way of the Shaman that Inchaca talked about." Blair was jittering slightly now, hands picking at a loose thread in his jeans, knee jumping. "I think I was channeling, or possibly shapeshifting. I wasn't really there for most of it, man."  
  
"Shapeshifting." Jim looked hard at Blair.  
  
"Don't freak out, man. This is a whole other path and I've never been down it." Blair sprung up at last and began to pace, his words punctuated by his manic hands.  
  
"Growing up with Naomi, you might think I buy into all that crystal, new age, feng shui, aura bull hell. I don't man," he looked hard at Jim, but saw only a tired man, listening. "I'm a scientist, Jim. I realized early on that I had to do a fair amount of reality testing with whatever Naomi's guru of the month was espousing. Most of it was nonsense, and I just kinda smiled and nodded and went on. Some things, though, had value for me and I held on to them. Meditation, natural remedies, yoga.. Not all new age garbage is garbage."  
  
Blair paused, panting a little, and sat down on the floor rather abruptly. Jim made an abortive move to catch him, but did not make it off of the couch in time. "I'm ok, man," Blair said in a small voice. "Just got a little dizzy. Where was I?"  
  
Jim stood finally and helped him up, supporting Blair back to the couch. "Not all new age garbage is garbage."  
  
"Right. Thank s, Jim. Which brings us to Inchaca."  
  
Blair stopped then, looking at his friend with some concern. "It gets pretty heavy from here on in, Jim. Are you sure you want to hear all of this right now? It can wait until after you get some down time. You look like.."  
  
".Hell. Yeah, you said. Can you give me a précis, professor? I'll get the full story later." Jim closed his eyes and lay back again, letting the soothing voice of his friend wash over him.  
  
Chuckling, Blair took a sip of juice. "Précis. You been hanging around us academic types too long, James." He took a deep breath, calming finally, and continued. "Ok, the précis is Inchaca opened up a door inside me, the way of the Shaman. When I died in the fountain, and came back, I went through that door. Today, I took a small journey along the path. My spirit animal came to me and helped me; healed me a little too, cause I'm pretty sure that sick bastard gave me a nasty concussion, but my x-rays came back negative. Now," he picked up Jim's feet again, settling them on his lap, and began to rub. "What book?!"  
  
Jim chuckled and allowed the redirection. More talking would come, but they were both too tired for more at present. "Oh. The book. Crime and Punishment. Dostoevsky. It's the last thing Sneaks said to me before he died."  
  
"Sneaks is dead?" Blair stopped rubbing, his voice filled with dismay. "Damn. I thought that labcoated bastard just meant he had gotten away. Well, hell. I'm sorry Jim. He was a weird guy, but I kinda liked him."  
  
"Me too, Chief. What do you think it means, though? Crime and Punishment."  
  
"Library, man. He had to have hidden the disk somewhere and he knew his house would be searched. If he had any time at all, he'd put it somewhere safe. No one checks out Dostoevsky."  
  
Jim groaned, reaching for the phone with his free hand. "Of course. And the title would appeal to Sneaks' sick sense of humor. I think you've hit it, Chief. Simon," he said into the phone, "Send a two units to the Cascade Public Library branch closest to Old City Park. They might be being watched by the same goons that had me and Sandburg, so tell them to be careful. What? Oh, they're looking for Crime and Punishment. No, Dostoevsky. Yes, I'm sure. Not Tolstoy." Jim rolled his eyes, eliciting a grin from Blair. "I'm pretty sure the disk is in one of the copies of the book. Call me and let me know. Hmm? Oh, thanks, Sir, but it was Blair's idea. He made the connection. Yeah. Bye."  
  
Ten minutes later, the call came back. The disk had been tucked into the check out sleeve of a copy of Crime and Punishment that hadn't been checked out for over a year. "Must have seemed like a safe bet," Blair noted, shaking out his hands. "I'm going to bed, man. Wake me next year."  
  
The loft was quiet in the dimming light; a peaceful silence had settled over the two men. Jim reached out and grasped Blair's arm as he rose, stopping him. "Chief. You did good today. I didn't think we were gonna make it out this time." The fears of the day crowded into Jim's mind, the helpless rage, the pain and powerlessness of it all. "I'm so sorry you were hurt, Blair."  
  
Surprised to stillness, Blair covered Jim's hand with his own. "It's ok, Jim. You had to protect the tribe. So did I. We did what we had to do." He gave the older man's hand a squeeze.  
  
"Damn it, it's not ok. I should have."  
  
"Should have what, Jim? There was nothing you could have done. Nothing. And that makes it worse, doesn't it?" Jim nodded, jaw clenched and eyes hard. Blair squeezed Jim's hand again, then knuckled Jim's head. "You're such a mensh, Jim. I love you, man. You know that, right?"  
  
Jim nodded again, seeing the laughter coming slowly back into Blair's eyes, and feeling his guilt draining away. "Yeah. You too, Chief. Don't want to see you get hurt again, ever. Got it?" He brushed sensitive fingers across the livid bruises on Blair's cheek.  
  
"Got it, man. Now go to bed." Blair grinned, catching the fingers, then the hand in a two handed grasp. With a grunt, he pulled Jim off of the couch and pushed him toward the stairs. "Go on, old man. See you in the morning." Jim grinned and let himself be pushed.  
  
Climbing the stairs wearily, he let his hearing stay downstairs, following Blair as he locked up, set the coffee maker for the morning, and then undressed for bed. Singing softly as he went, "Ilu hotzi-hotzianu mi- Mitzrayim hotzianu mi-Mitzrayim dahyenu!"  
  
Jim looked down through the rails, his sight easily picking up the pale form of his roommate. "Blair," he said softly, hoping to get his attention. "Blair!"  
  
"Yeah?" Blair stopped half in and half out of his room. "Sorry, man, didn't mean to keep you awake."  
  
"No.it's just.what is that song? I recognize the words from, um, earlier today."  
  
Blair smiled up at his friend, teeth flashing white in the darkness. "I'd forgotten it, mostly, before today. It's a song we used to sing when I was a kid. We'd go to my grandfather's house for Passover Seder and we'd sing the Dahyenu. The song appears in the haggadah after the telling of the story of the exodus, just before the explanation of Pesach, Matzah and Maror." In a strong, low baritone, Blair sang, "Ilu hotzi-hotzianu hotzianu mi-Mitzrayim hotzianu mi-Mitzrayim dahyenu. Dahy-dahyenu, dahy- dahyenu, dahyenu..." The song was fast, lilting, and up beat, and you could hear the desert and the joy of freedom through the words. "Had He brought us out of Egypt, it would have been enough for us. That's the literal translation."  
  
Jim squirmed around in bed and propped himself up on his crossed hands, half poking his head through the loft rails. "What does that mean to a big, dumb gentile like me, Rabbi?"  
  
"Well, my goyim friend, it basically means that, not only are we back in the loft and free to live our lives now, but we also get cinnamon rolls and mocha for breakfast." He smiled fondly up at Jim. "Say good night, man."  
  
"Good night, man." Jim smiled, turned over, and closed his eyes, listening to the soft singing below until sleep claimed him.  
  
The End 


End file.
